


The Adoration of a Malfoy

by Renea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Angst, Canon Divergence, Creature Fic, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Potions, Veela, Veela Draco Malfoy, dramione - Freeform, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 20:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13888665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renea/pseuds/Renea
Summary: Started as a funny little oneshot and has now morphed into a slow burn Dramione fic, wherein Draco finds himself obsessed with the scent of a certain muggleborn witch. As he becomes more entangled with Her and more confused by his feelings, his life takes on complexities he never imagined and he finds himself questioning his place in the upcoming war. When it comes time, what, or who, will Draco fight for? Veela Fic.





	1. Chapter 1

Glancing out through the tall windows before descending into the dungeons, Draco noted that it had begun to rain hard outside. That would mean no quidditch practice this evening. Great. He was alone in the halls, having just come from the infirmary after an unfortunate mishap in Herbology that morning left Crabbe and Goyle with angry boils all over their hands and faces. Sprout had asked Draco to take them to Pomfrey while she finished up class and she had given him a note to take to Professor Snape, as he’d be arriving late to Potions. Honestly he didn’t see why she hadn’t just excused him from the class entirely as he’d be missing most of it anyway.

Pushing open the heavy door to the classroom, he started toward Snape, but as soon as he drew breath to speak, he found his every sense was assaulted by the warm, intoxicating scent of ginger and amber—Granger’s perfume. He’d know it anywhere. The first time he’d caught the scent had been out on the breeze during a quidditch match when he’d flown right over the Gryffindor stands. The smell had driven him wild, and he’d been so distracted he’d failed to see the damn snitch right by his own damnable head and Saint Bloody Potter had caught it instead, to raucous applause of course. Draco was furious at himself for getting so distracted and he’d searched for the owner of the scent in the halls for weeks. Lion wasn’t his usual fare, but in this case he’d make an exception; if he could just figure out who that scent belonged to, he could get a taste of the little chit and move on with his life. So imagine his surprise when he’d encountered it again quite by accident in the library one morning before breakfast, warm notes of ginger and amber clinging softly to a girl as she was reaching for a book on the top shelf. A girl with frizzy, chestnut curls. The only person who would ever come to the library before breakfast apart from himself. Granger.

  
After that, he’d quietly turned on his heel, put down the book he’d picked up, forgetting why he’d even bothered to come to the library in the first place, and left. So Granger smelled good. She’s a girl. Girls do that. He determined then that he’d put it out of his mind, and he did. Well, for the most part, apart from a few desperate wanks over the next few weeks to the memory of her scent and the bit of skin he saw at the back of her thighs when her skirt lifted up as she reached for that book. At night, in his bed with the heavy curtains drawn, Granger’s soft body and smart mouth were all his, and it was her scent that he’d seek out each day, just a little, just by bumping into her in the halls or walking a little closer to her desk in class, that would feed his fantasies at night.

  
So, what? Had the desperate girl just dumped the entire bottle on herself before class today? Pathetic. He couldn’t help but make a dig at her.

  
“Why is it,” he asked loudly in a drawling voice, sauntering up to the front of the classroom to hand in his note, “that this entire classroom smells like Granger?”

  
Snape looked up sharply at his godson, his eyebrows raised. There was something that looked to be shock in his eyes but disappeared quickly into a malicious glint coupled with a smirk worthy of a Malfoy. He took the note from Draco silently and slowly inclined his head, smirk still in place, gesturing for him to take his seat. Draco noted that no one in the classroom, not even Blaise or Theo, had laughed at his clear dig at Granger. Perhaps they hadn’t understood him? Glancing around and seeing Granger staring, pink cheeked, into her cauldron and the Weasel and Scarhead looking mutinous, Draco figured his dig at her must have landed since those two were staring so hard at him. Everyone was, in fact, staring at him. Draco hadn’t yet taken his place. Something was wrong. Everyone was looking at him with varying degrees of shock, from horror to barely contained glee. He glanced over at his friends, at Blaise and Theo, who, upon seeing his face, both burst into fits of laughter. Draco blanched. They laughed harder. “Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, Blaise, hey Blaise—Ten points......” wheezed Theo, tears in his eyes as he doubled over laughing and holding onto Blaise, “to Dramione!” At this, Blaise howled and the entire classroom erupted into hysterics.

  
Snape’s voice telling them to settle down could be heard in the din, but it was clear he wasn’t trying too hard. Turning to look back at the front of the room, Draco noticed the blackboard for the first time and what was written across it: Amortentia.

  
In that moment, Draco could have gladly been swallowed up by the Giant Squid and he’d have thanked her for the privilege. He felt his eyes drawn like a magnet toward Hermione, who now was looking back at him with an unreadable expression. Her lapdogs and a handful of other Gryffindors were the only students not laughing. As his godfather finally took it upon himself to properly settle everyone down, asking them to take their seats, Draco just sneered and walked out of the room as quickly as his long legs would take him, slamming the heavy door behind him as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the title of this work from “Ten Points to Dramione” to what you see now because with the shift to the new, longer storyline it just no longer felt appropriate. Ten Points worked for the humor one shot but not for the slow burn I have in mind now. I’ve been asked for a veela fic, and while I never saw myself writing a creature fic before, I must admit I find myself a little excited. It may be slow going but I’ll do my best to update regularly. Please subscribe! This is my first real attempt at a sustained story so truly, thank you for reading! I’m excited to go on this journey with you!

“You cut that steak any smaller and it’s gonna be mush, Hermione.” She paused, knife in hand, and focused properly on her dinner for what she realized was the first time since she’d sat down.

She slammed the knife down, making Seamus Finnigan jump and lean away from her a little. Glancing over briefly to smile apologetically at Seamus, she turned back to Harry and Ron and sighed deeply.

“You’d just think that at this point in our lives, Malfoy would have more things to think about than finding ways to try to upset me.”

“Well he’s always been a git, Hermione.” said Ron. “Don’t even worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it!” she snapped.

“Right!” Ron said, turning pink and looking to Harry.

“No, of course you’re not. I just meant not to let him get to you. Don’t let him get under your skin, you know?”

Harry groaned. Ron shut his eyes.

“OH. So you think he’s gotten under my skin, do you? You think Draco Malfoy has that kind of power over ME? That I would let the words of that insignificant ferret get to ME?”

Hermione was staring Ron down, aiming the roll in her hand at him like a wand. Jerking the roll to her mouth to take a small bite, she chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then looked to Harry, who shrunk a bit.

“Malfoy did not get ‘under my skin,’ right Harry?” The exaggerated air quotes she used did her no favors in making her appear more calm.

“Go on, then! Tell him!”

Harry opened and closed his mouth for a moment, unsure of what to say. As this was clearly not what Hermione intended from him, she let out a frustrated groan, picked up her bag, and left the table without another word.

* * *

Draco watched Mudblood Granger huffing and puffing across the Great Hall, hoisting her giant bag along with her, trying to get it closed while stomping out. Grabbing an apple from the basket in the center of the table and ignoring his housemates questions, he took off after her, figuring he knew where she’d be headed. She was not, in fact, headed where he expected. He thought she’d be headed toward the library. Or her common room. But no, instead the little swot, having now gotten her unruly bag under control, was making her way toward the heavy double doors of the castle as if to go outside. Draco felt a sense of unease inside himself that she would be going outside unaccompanied and then he shook his head at himself. What the fuck did he care if Granger wanted to go outside and get herself offed by some creature lurking in the dark forest? What was it to him? Nevertheless, he found himself tracing her footsteps.

* * *

“‘Under my skin.’ He wishes he could get ‘under my skin’!” Kicking at the muddy ground, Hermione grumbled aloud to herself. She realized she’d been much too abrupt with poor Ron. She’d apologize later. Right now she just needed to be alone. What was Malfoy even playing at, coming into the classroom and saying the amortentia smelled like her? It had to have been some ploy to embarrass her but it seemed like it backfired and embarrassed him too. He must not have considered that part of it.

She found her favorite spot outside, a small covered alcove surrounded by tall bushes with a wide stone bench that sat against the stone wall. It didn’t seem like too many people knew about the spot as she rarely saw anyone else there, and Hermione liked to come out here when she needed a bit of privacy and fresh air. Lord knows she couldn’t get it in her dormitory with Lavender Brown running her mouth all the time and it seemed like the boys always seemed to need something from her if she spent time in the common room. This spot was secluded enough that she could be here for hours without being spotted. Not even Harry and Ron knew about this spot.

Settling down on the stone bench, she crossed her legs under herself and leaned back against the wall. Perhaps Malfoy truly didn’t know it was amortentia they were brewing, in which case, okay, yes, it’s strange that he said it smelled like her to him—and what is he doing smelling her anyway? Wh would a greasy git like Malfoy know what *she* smells like? Actually, on second thought, he probably was just saying it to be cruel, thinking it was some disgusting wart removal potion they were brewing or something like that. So when it turned out to be the world’s strongest love potion, his little joke was turned around on him and all of a sudden it made it look like he was in love with the ‘disgusting mudblood.’

That’s what she was to him and his kind, after all. Disgusting and muddy.

She sat up suddenly, feeling frustrated. That pain in her chest was back, the one she always felt when she thought of how she was viewed by the pureblood elite of the wizarding world. She hated that feeling and no matter how hard she worked to prove herself, it was never enough. It never would be enough. And of course, if she ever managed to forget for even a second, Malfoy was there to drag her right back down again.

She gripped the edge of the bench and kicked at the ground with the tip of her shoe, dislodging a clump of grass and dirt. The rainfall had been heavy over the last few days and the ground was still soaked through, filling the little hole she made quickly with water.

She was studying the muddied water when she heard a crunching sound and she looked up sharply. It was the last person she wanted to see, especially here in her sacred spot.

“Malfoy. What do you want?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Malfoy. What do you want?”

He smirked down at her and leaned against the stone wall, effectively blocking her only exit from the little alcove. It only occurred to him then that he had no idea why he had followed her.

“Well I was going to come enjoy a little peace and quiet on my favorite bench—“

He’d actually never seen this bench, or this alcove for that matter, before in his life, but it was obviously a favorite spot of hers and he knew it would annoy her to no end if he claimed it as well.

“—but I see you’ve already muddied it up before I could get here. I’d been wondering who it was that had been leaving that foul stench behind. Now I realize it was just mudblood fouling up the place, just like the rest of the castle.”

Hermione bristled and grabbed her things, moving toward Malfoy to go and stopping when he didn’t make a move to let her pass.

Staring at a fixed point over his shoulder, Hermione shut her eyes and breathed in slowly through her nose to calm herself. Standing close to him as she was, she couldn’t help but take in his scent and her mouth went dry despite her anger. There was a splash of some sort of cologne, a sublime masculine scent and she thought she caught notes of cedar and vanilla. Remembering herself suddenly, she snapped her eyes open, keeping them fixed straight ahead, but her awareness was very much on the broadness of the chest in front of her and the fact that she hadn’t been this close to him since their third year. He wasn’t a little boy anymore.

Well she wasn’t a little girl anymore either and she would make sure he knew it.

Draco watched all this with something akin to fascination. She’d stood up with a little huff and marched over to him, clearly enraged, but refused to look straight at him. When he didn’t move, she just stopped and closed her eyes. Fucking of course. Merlin forbid Gryffindor’s perfect little princess should lose her temper for once. Just as he was getting bored and about to let her go, something shifted in the air around them. Her scent, that mix of amber and ginger he’d smelled so often before, seemed more distinctive and he could detect the warm scent of cardamom and notes of soft, clean lilies. His mouth fucking watered and he hated himself. He watched her pull her bottom lip between her teeth and his thoughts flicked quickly through the images he usually reserved for bed or the shower—Granger’s soft body squirming underneath him as he pounded into her, Granger on her knees, mouth wide open, her tiny pink tongue peeking out…

She hadn’t opened her eyes just yet. That was weird, since he was right there and could easily hex her. Should he be hexing her? Her eyes opened and focused again behind him. Suddenly her chin jerked up a bit and she pinned him with a cold stare and smiled.

Ah, yes. This was more like it.

“If you want peace and quiet so bad, you’ll have it; but you have to step aside and let me go first.” she said, calmly.

Draco appeared to think it over, tapping his chin with one long, elegant finger. He wanted to keep her there. He wanted to rile her up some more. “You know, mudblood, I was going to do just that but now I think you might just make a good footstool. What do you say, Granger? Care to take your rightful place?”

Hermione batted her eyes prettily. A footstool, indeed! Without further warning, he felt his body turning like a rag doll and slamming face first into the stone wall beside him. He hadn’t even seen her pull out her wand but he could see her pocketing it now as she walked away from him. Unfortunately for her, the spell wasn’t one that held long and before she’d gotten more than a few steps away, Draco had righted himself and aimed his wand at her retreating figure.

Hermione was grinning at herself and her triumph over Malfoy when she felt her entire body seize up like a statue. Before she could hit the ground, a pair of strong hands caught her and dragged her none to gently back to the alcove and shoved her at the tall bushes.

“Finite!” Malfoy called, ending the spell that had locked up all of her limbs. Pulling herself out of the thorny bush, she heard him chiding her and moving closer. “That was not very nice, Granger. You’ll pay for that.”

But before he could utter another word, his body was folding itself in half, his head moving quite quickly and quite without his permission between his legs until he toppled over into the mud. It seemed his teeth were trying to bite at his—oh Merlin. Oh Salazar, what has this crazy witch done?!

“GRANGER!” He screamed at her as he tried his best to keep his jaw as far back from his manly bits as he could.

The answering voice was dripping with honey and acid. “Yes, Malfoy?”

“WHAT THE—“ *bite* “MERLIN GODDAMNED” *bite, bite* “FUCK...”

She gasped theatrically. “Language, Malfoy! My goodness! If your mother could hear you!”

She watched dispassionately as he writhed on the ground, bent unnaturally into himself. She’d never used this spell on anyone before but she remembered when she’d first read it back in fourth year how she’d giggled and immediately thought it would be perfect for the boy currently sweating and rolling around in the mud at her feet. At the time, it was just a funny little idea to her and she didn’t even think she would have committed it to memory, but apparently some part of her brain must have filed it away just in case he ever pulled something like, well, like what he’d pulled today.

“MAKE IT—*bite* STOP!!!”

“Oh is THAT what you wanted?”

Malfoy let out a long, enraged growl that made Hermione jump back a bit but it was followed by the most pitiful whimper she’d ever heard, which made her think his teeth must have at last found their target.

“Finite.”

As Malfoy unfurled himself, apparently unconcerned for the mud covering his body and hair at this point, she briefly wondered if she should take him to the hospital wing or at least send someone out for him, but she shoved those thoughts away again. Let him find his own way if he needed to go there. His worst wounds were probably to his pride anyway.

* * *

The next two weeks passed in relative peace, and Hermione wondered if she’d finally gotten through to Malfoy that she was not a witch to mess with. He’d been in the hospital wing a little longer than she’d expected, which did leave her feeling a little guilty; but, after a few days of looking a little worse for wear, he was arrogantly sauntering about the castle again, so she supposed there had been no long term effects.

The best thing was that he hadn’t spoken to her since the incident, not to make fun of her or to call her mudblood or anything. He’d kept his distance and hadn’t so much as looked her way. That couldn’t, however, be said for certain other classmates of the male persuasion lately. Ever since the Autumn Ball had been announced, she’d suddenly found herself the focus of attention for several boys, some of whom shed never said more than two words to before. This was, of course, quite funny to Harry and Ron, who teased her endlessly whenever one of her “suitors” would show up when they were around. Michael Corner had offered to carry her books to class; Terry Boot had asked her to study for arithmancy with him; Ernie Macmillan had overheard her regret at arriving to dinner late one day and missing out on the pudding so he brought some over from the Hufflepuff table. And while all of this was certainly out of the ordinary for her, nothing could compare to Cormac McLaggen, who showed up one day at the library while she was reading an interesting chapter on temporary shield spells. Apparently with this spell, one could wandlessly shield another person from certain types of harm—

“So. Granger. Hermione.” Cormac had pushed a few of her books aside and perched himself on the table, leaning over her. When he said her first name, he drew it out, such that it sounded a little perverse on his lips.

“Cormac.” She greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“What you can do for me, beautiful, is to go to the Ball with me next Friday. What do you say?”

She blushed pink, despite herself. Beautiful?

“Well, I…”

“Well, you….just can’t wait to go with me?” He flashed a grin at her and a hopeful wink.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Oh alright! Yes. Yes, I’ll go with you.”

“And….?”

“And I can’t wait!” She added, laughing with him.

He hopped off the table and bent low, catching her face between his large hands and pressing a kiss on her lips, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth and groaning. She pulled back from him quickly but he didn’t seem to notice, holding her head still in his hands until he had finished.

“See you next Friday then. I’ll pick you up at your common room at 7.” Then he gave her another wink and was off.

Hermione sat back in her chair and stared at the corner where he’d disappeared, a deep crease between her eyebrows and the ghost of her last laugh still etched into her face. Her hand reached up and touched her lips gently. She wished immediately that she hadn’t said yes to Cormac Mclaggen.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione was still bleary eyed the next day when she, Harry, and Ron arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast. She hadn’t slept well at all, worrying herself over her reaction to Cormac’s kiss the previous evening. It had made her feel so cheap and uncomfortable and she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of his thick, stiff tongue forcing it’s way against her own. But then, she’d reasoned, it had only been a kiss. She’d kissed Victor Krum when he was visiting with Durmstrang during the Triwizard Tournament and it had been nice. It wasn’t as if Cormac’s kiss had been her first. Lavender Brown had called her a prude on a few occasions when she and Parvati were up late and discussing boys and Hermione finally had to accept that perhaps Lavender had the truth of the matter. Perhaps she was a prude.

 

“You okay, ‘Mione?” asked a concerned looking Ron as they climbed through the portrait hole.

 

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes, fine. I just didn’t sleep well.” she replied honestly, smiling gently at him.

 

Harry grinned at her for a moment. “Haven’t had any more suitors coming a’calling have you?”

 

She just laughed at his attempt at antiquarian language and looped her arms through theirs to continue to breakfast. She held back from telling the boys about Cormac. She wasn’t sure yet what she wanted to say about him and she was much too tired to begin to think of how to temper any response the boys might have. If she told them what he did and they were upset and blew up, well she didn’t know if she had the energy to calm them. And she didn’t know if she wanted to hear them shrug it off either and tell her it was nothing, even if that was the conclusion she, herself, had come to.

 

The Hall was buzzing this morning, everyone appearing much more animated than they usually were at this time of day. As soon as they sat down, they were accosted by a couple of their fellow Gryffindors.

 

“Did you hear, Harry?” asked Seamus Finnigan. “Did you hear what happened to McLaggen?”

 

Hermione’s head shot up, her hand pausing in midair as she’d been ladling some oatmeal from a tureen.

 

“No, what happened?” Harry asked, reaching across the table to spear a couple of sausages onto his plate.

 

It was Dean Thomas who answered. “He got his ass kicked is what happened!”

 

Seamus nodded. “Yeah, and he won’t say who it was done it either! He could barely hold himself upright, he couldn't, and didn’t want us callin’ no teachers, neither, but we figured we couldn’t have him bleedin’ out right there in front of us so we had to call Professor McGonagall.”

 

Hermione gasped, “He was that bad off?”

 

Dean nodded, “He really was! If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said he’d been attacked by a wild animal.”

 

“And since McLaggen won’t tell, we can’t know whoever it was who did it,” Seamus said, then added in a lowered voice, looking around at Harry, Ron, and Dean, “so mind you all look after yourselves. We don’t know when he might strike again.”

 

While Ron and Harry requested more of the gorier aspects of Cormac’s injuries, of which the other two boys seemed eager to share, Hermione ate her breakfast and considered the news. No one knew Cormac had asked her to go to the dance with him, and certainly no one knew about the kiss, but it still seemed strange. Something inside her was telling her that the situations were connected. But how could that be?

 

When she tuned back into the conversation, Ron and Harry were lamenting having let Hermione talk them into staying late into the evening holed up in the library studying for the upcoming History of Magic exam.

 

“That just goes to show you,” said Ron, chewing a large piece of sausage and wearing a pensive expression, “that studying too much of what happened in the past can cause you to miss out on what really matters in the here and now.”

 

All the boys nodded sagely.

 

 

* * *

 

_The Previous Evening…._

 

Draco was searching the stacks for anything new he could find that might contain something about vanishing spells that he hadn’t yet read. He’d already checked out and practically committed to memory every book on the subject he could find and now he was searching for something on the periphery, perhaps a book about another topic—disillusionment spells, perhaps, or magical travel—that would mention vanishing in passing and might discuss some aspect he’d not yet considered. As he rounded a corner, he overheard the nasal voice of Cormac McLaggen. He couldn’t stand McLaggen on the best days, but lately he’d been feeling more and more agitated and that voice of his sounded even more grating than usual. Draco clenched his jaw and rolled his shoulders. Ever since his last run-in with Granger that had left him hobbling to the hospital wing to ask Madame Pomfrey for help with the most embarrassing of injuries, a human bite to his own fucking ballsack, and had to further tell her that it was *his own* teeth that had caused the injury, well! He hadn’t exactly been in the best of moods. He’d been plotting his revenge against the mudblood since then, but he’d come up short each time. Nothing seemed good enough for that smirking little bitch who smelled like sin on legs and made him want to simultaneously kiss her senseless and throw her off the highest tower. And of course Crabbe and Goyle had been no help at all, both too stupid to function most days as it was. 

And speaking of smirking little bitches, he could now hear a familiar voice in addition to McLaggen’s. It appeared that the unfortunate girl McLaggen had cornered in the library was, in fact, Draco’s smirking little bitch. She was laughing a bit nervously at something McLaggen had said. Draco moved a bit closer, just in time to see McLaggen hop off of the table where he’d been sitting and lean down toward her. Draco was no expert on women and he certainly didn’t consider himself an expert on mudblood women, but when a guy leans in and girl shrinks back the way Granger just did, he could be pretty certain that the advance was not welcome. As much as he hated Granger, he was still a Malfoy and Malfoy’s didn’t make unwelcome advances. A fool like McLaggen, however, didn’t much seem to mind it, as he took Granger’s head between his hands in a vice-like grip and forced his tongue down her throat with a grunt. Draco could hear Granger whimper lightly and he saw her pushing the heels of her hands into McLaggen’s arms in a weak bid to get him off of her.

Draco saw red. He suddenly had a vision of himself ripping McLaggen’s throat out by his teeth, but he held himself still, confused by his own strong reactions to the mudblood’s predicament.

Eventually she had given up pushing against the large boy and appeared to be waiting him out. Dimly, he registered McLaggen turning and leaving the area and Granger staring off at nothing at all for a time before raising her hand gently and placing it over her lips.

For one insane moment, Draco thought he was going to go over and talk to the mudblood and try to what, comfort her? But he felt hot all over having watched that display and a voice inside him that somehow felt like him, but also didn’t, was telling him to go find McLaggen and paint the library walls with his blood.

Unable to keep still any longer, Draco turned on his heel and stalked silently like a panther out of the library after McLaggen. He had a lesson to teach the other boy on manners and how you do and specifically, how you do _not_ treat a woman, and he was certain that lesson would take all evening if it was to make a lasting impact.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warning for violence and sexual content + discussions of consent and sexual harassment

  
He twisted the lever all the way to cold and stepped in, jerking his head instinctually away from the frigid temperatures. People seemed to think the Slytherin dormitories would be cold and damp, being in the dungeons, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Snakes like it hot and dark, and the Slytherin dorms accommodated them nicely. Most mornings, Draco awoke as warm and cozy as a Hufflepuff, but this morning was different. He’d awoken in a cold sweat, panting, his heart racing. In the shower now, he felt the need to shock his system, bring himself out of it somehow and back to himself. He did his best to relax into it, bracing both hands against the wall beneath the shower head and let the cold water run over the back of his head and down his neck.

As his body adjusted to the temperature, he found a bar of his favorite soap and began to lather it into the flannel, the scent of cedar and vanilla filling the space. “Only the best for a Malfoy,” his father had said when they first visited the tiny Italian apothecary, and Draco had chosen this scent for himself and used it religiously since. Ordinarily it would have relaxed him, but he was too wound up today and instead of feeling more calm, he felt himself growing increasingly agitated.

_He’d thrown the worthless fuck across the abandoned classroom and locked and silenced the room in one fluid move. “You kissed Granger,” Draco spat, his wand trained on the cowering figure in front of him._

_“What the FUCK, Malfoy?”_

Cedar and vanilla filled the shower stall and Draco breathed it in slowly, and shook his head in an effort to clear his mind. He didn’t want to think right now.

_“You kissed Granger,” Draco said again, a bit louder._

_“Okay, yeah, I did. Is there some law against it?” The boy had stood up straighter now and squared his shoulders, as if to intimidate him._

_“She was trying to push you away.”_

_“Fuck you, Malfoy.”_

_“I saw her trying to push you off but you didn’t budge, did you?” He took a few steps forward, holding his wand lightly in his hand now and examining it casually as he spoke. He could smell the stench of the other boy’s fear on him like a cloak and he chuckled humorlessly. “No, you held her there while you stuck your slimy, disgusting, piece of shit tongue down her throat.”_

The flannel felt soft on his face and he tried to focus on that before he let the water rinse the soap away, running his hand over his face for good measure before grabbing for the shampoo.

_“What the fuck do you care?”_

Attacking his head with more aggression than he needed to, he dug his short nails into his scalp and scrubbed.

_Draco hadn’t answered that. How could he? He grinned instead and advanced on him._

_“Let me show you how consent works, McLaggen. Right now, you don’t consent to me busting your face wide open.”_

_He punched him, hard._

_“But I did it anyway. See how much you hated that? Let’s try again, shall we?”_

_Again, his fist found its way into the boy’s face. Then again. Then again. It wasn’t too long before Draco’s knuckles were covered in blood, some of it his own but most from the face of the boy at his feet. He noted somewhere in the back of his mind how alarming it was that so much blood could pour from someone’s nose without them passing out._

The water had been running over his head a little too long and Draco had to pull his head back in order to gulp in the air he’d been inadvertently denying himself.

_With strength he didn’t know he possessed and rage that had only cooled a fraction, he lifted the boy and threw him into the wall, his limp body colliding with a few desks along the way. A sickening crunch echoed in the mostly empty room and the boy began to cry in earnest._

He rubbed the flannel over his neck and throat, then down his arms and across the planes of his chest and back. He scrubbed his entire body, trying his best to clean away the images in his mind. He’d done that to the other boy, hurt him, broken him somehow, and yet he still didn’t understand. How could he have done that? And why even now did a part of him seem to relish the memory?

_“She’s mine. MINE,” he heard himself growl, just inches from the bloody mass of flesh that had once been McLaggen’s face. He couldn’t know that as he spoke those words, his eyes began to glow with a pale, silvery colored light that terrified the boy in front of him to his core. The mass nodded, unable to speak, and Draco stepped away. He’d decided to be kind and let the boy keep his tongue for now, but he left him with a final warning._

_“You will never touch Granger again,” he spat. “Don’t speak to her. Don’t look at her. If I sense you’re even *thinking* about her, we will have a repeat of this lesson. I wont be so charitable a second time around, do you understand me?”_

_He nodded his assent and Draco waved his wand, lifting the silencing charm and unlocking the door. He glanced once more back over his shoulder._

_“And if I were you, McLaggen, I’d keep this discussion between us.” He didn’t wait for a response before walking out, leaving the confused and battered boy still trembling in a heap on the floor behind him._

_“She’s mine. Mine. Mine,” a rumbling voice in his head insisted as he walked calmly down to the dungeons toward his dormitory, muttering a few cleansing charms on his skin and clothes as he went. “Mine,” he felt himself agreeing, a vision of Granger’s lithe body, naked and covered in sweat, writhing and rocking herself over him as she moaned and whined for him to take her harder._

He had reached his groin and found himself hard and aching. He ran the flannel over himself, enjoying the feel of the lather on his skin, before dropping it to the shower floor and gripping himself tight in his fist. Bracing himself again with one arm, he let his imagination take over. The voice inside roared with pleasure as Draco envisioned Granger’s head tipped back, her large brown eyes focused on his as her tongue danced over the head of his cock. It was with this image that he finally came with a searing hiss of pleasure. After a beat, he fell forward and placed his heated face against the cool tiled wall.

When the fog in his mind cleared, Draco only had one thought.

What. the. fuck.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco set fire to yet another piece of parchment and watched it burn away. He’d been alone in his dorm trying to compose a letter to his father for the past hour. He knew so much of what his father would likely say that he felt he could almost have the conversation on his own.

“I’m lusting over a witch and can’t get her out of my mind. I may have beaten someone half to death because they touched her. Please advise.”

“So invite her into your bed, Draco. You are of age and have plenty of experience in this area. You hardly need to be crawling to me for advice anymore on this front.”

“Right, but she’s a muggleborn.”

“Ah, right then. You are no son of mine and are immediately disinherited. Do not contact me again.”

Draco shook his head. There was no way he was getting disinherited over this. There had to be some way of discussing this with his father without revealing that it was Granger who had inspired his behavior. No matter what story he made up, his father would inevitably ask who the girl was and he couldn’t very well make trouble by dragging someone else into this. That would be all he needed, he thought wryly, to say it was Pansy or someone else “safe” only to have his father try to “help” by going behind his back and arranging a marriage or something. No, he couldn’t have that.

He’d have to leave the girl out of it entirely. Focus on the fight he’d had—at least that was what he’d call it in his letter to his father. No need to be overly honest here. He only needed to know if his father had any insight into what was happening to him and what he thought he should do about it.

Taking out a new sheet of parchment stamped at the top with the Malfoy family crest, Draco once again lifted his silver-tipped quill and began to write.

———

“So, Drake, you wanna bone Granger!”

Draco leapt forward in his chair, hushing Theo. “Fuck, Theo, if you’re going to go screaming it around the castle for anyone to hear, why don’t you go request an audience with the Dark Lord and tell him straight to his face?”

Blaise chuckled. Theo rolled his eyes.

“There’s no one listening, you paranoid git,” said Theo, glancing around them surreptitiously. “Anyway, everyone heard you as good as announce it yourself during potions class anyway. My point is that if you’ve got a thing for Granger...”

“I DO NOT—” Draco realized he’d raised his voice and took a moment to calm himself, holding his palms up in front of him and breathing out slowly before he began again, much more quietly. “I do _not_ have a thing for Granger.”

Both of his friends gave him doubtful looks. Draco refused to say anything more, even though his mind was stirring with evidence to the contrary.

“I mean it’s alright to admit she’s gotten pretty fit, mate.” said Theo. Blaise said nothing, but smirked and raised an eyebrow, nodding a bit and taking a sip of his drink.

Draco dropped his head into his hands, hoping they’d just disappear.

“Alright, then.” Theo chirped, turning in his seat to Blaise with a big grin on his face. “Say, Blaisey my lad, who have you planned to ask to the ball?”

He’d said this in a singsong voice so it sounded false and rehearsed.

“Oh I don’t know,” Blaise grinned back, “but since _Draco_ ”—the emphasis on his name made Draco narrow his eyes at his friend—“isn’t interested in Granger after all, I thought I might have a go at her.”

Draco felt hot all over rather suddenly, but was determined not to show it. Blaise and Theo did not know about what he’d done to McLaggen and giving them first hand experience right here in the Slytherin common room wasn’t how Draco wanted them to find out.

Theo clapped his hands. “Oh what a splendid idea!” he said. “Draco, don’t you think Blaise’s idea is just _splendid_?”

Draco did not.

——

Hermione pushed her hair away from her face as she leaned over her cauldron in potions class. He was trying not to be too obvious about it, but he’d taken to watching her whenever he thought he wouldn’t get caught. Like now, as he stood at his own cauldron two workbenches back from hers. He was convinced she’d done something to him, some sort of spell or charm that he had yet to work out. It was only a matter of time before she’d slip up somehow and he’d catch her out and make her reverse it. But it had been almost a week and the ball was coming up in a couple of days and she’d barely spared him a glance. She was better than he gave her credit for. Draco determined he’d have to force her to admit what she’d done. The little swot was good with her wand, that was something he couldn’t deny, but he would have the element of surprise.

He watched her leave with Scarhead and the weasel, laughing at something the ginger git had said. He felt himself bristle at the brief touch of her hand on the weasel’s arm as she giggled and he clenched his fists a couple of times. After following far behind them for a time, he saw her splinter away from them as they both headed downstairs and she ascended toward the library. Draco silenced his footsteps and sped up, hitting her with an expalliarmus from behind and catching her wand easily in his hand. She rounded on him with fire in her eyes.

“Give me back my wand, Malfoy.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Draco, “I rather like your wand. I think I’ll keep it.”

She sighed, looking tired now and stepping toward him. “Look I really don’t have time for this. What do you want?”

She was close now and he could smell her. Her perfume, her soap, the detergent the uniforms were washed in. He could smell ink and old books and the autumn leaves outside. She smelled wonderful.

“Malfoy?” she called his name, a question on her lips. He wanted to bury his face in the curve of her neck and drown in her scent. He hadn’t felt so content in...he couldn’t remember when.

“Hm?” he asked.

“Are you...are you alright?”

Draco’s eyes snapped open and focused on the little witch in front of him, her hand raised for a moment as if to touch him and then, probably thinking better of it, lowering again. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes at all, but he now realized he’d been... _savoring_ her.

He felt himself flush and the anger that had faded since she’d moved so close to him suddenly came rushing back. He stepped toward her menacingly and she took a few steps back until her back hit the stone wall. She didn’t look angry or afraid, but she was flushed with something else, something entirely different that Draco didn’t want to name, lest he lose his wits entirely. With both their wands clenched tightly in his left hand, he moved so that his arms formed a cage around her and he stared straight into her eyes.

_Large brown eyes. Freckled, soft skin. Parchment and fresh air._

“I’m only going to ask this once, princess,” he whispered angrily, “what have you done to me?”

A little crinkle formed between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth to speak, but Draco spoke again.

“You’ve bewitched me. I can’t think, I can’t eat, I feel like I’m going crazy.”

_Ginger and amber and autumn leaves. Warm sunlight. Comfort and safety._

“Look Malfoy, I don’t know what you are referring to—”

“Fuck, you smell good,” he breathed, dropping his head to rest close to her throat.

“Wha—what?”

A low, sonorous voice interrupted whatever it was he was going to say next, thank fuck.

“And what, pray tell, is going on here? Mr. Malfoy? Ms. Granger?” Snape was standing at the end of the hallway, his head inclined, waiting for their explanations.

It was, surprisingly, Granger who came to their rescue. “Malfoy and I were just discussing our potions assignment, sir. We had a small disagreement over whether brandyroot or caramus seeds would produce the most potent elixir, but we resolved it.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at her lie, transparent yet simple enough to pass for the truth. He glanced at Draco for confirmation.

“Yes, sir. It is resolved.”

“What did you decide?”

“Brandyroot, sir, due to it’s anticoagulant properties. Granger didn’t take long to come around to my way of thinking.” His lie came smoother than Hermione’s had, his voice confident and the sneer on his face convincing enough to fool almost anyone.

Severus Snape, however, was not convinced. Draco had practically been pressing the Granger girl up against the wall and she didn’t seem entirely averse to her position. This, he thought, could be worth exploring further.

“Since you are currently making adequate marks in class and you have such an _intensive_ interest in the subject,” his eyes shot to Draco, “I think it prudent that you begin to work on more advanced projects.”

Hermione looked thrilled. Draco grimaced. He didn’t have time for this. He still had that vanishing cabinet to repair and it wasn’t coming along well. Snape _knew_ that.

“Yes, I think this will be for the best for all involved. Come by my office tomorrow after lunch and we will discuss the parameters of your new partnership.”

Perhaps Draco was imagining things, or perhaps it was due to whatever Granger had done to bewitch him so thoroughly, but he thought he heard her heart rate increase.

“Excuse me, sir, did you say partnership?” Hermione couldn’t hide the panic in her voice.

“Yes, Ms. Granger, you heard me correctly.”

“As in the two of _us_ ,” she motioned to herself and Draco, “working together on a project?”

He smiled, not without a hint of malice. “Not a _single_ project, Ms. Granger, but rather a series of projects. You are both not without some skill and it is my duty as your professor to foster and help you improve upon that skill to the best of my ability.”

“But sir,” she began, but was cut off before she could voice her concerns.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow afternoon. Draco, if you are finished here, I’d like to speak with you now.” He didn’t give either of them time to reply before he spun on his heel and left, his cloak billowing behind him.

Draco silently handed over her wand and she took it. He paused for a moment, his eyes still on the end of the hall where Snape had been standing. Then he simply turned to go, following in Snape’s wake and questioning his sanity the whole way.


	7. Chapter 7

Snape didn’t speak to Draco until they’d reached his quarters in the dungeons. The room was small and dim, the only light coming from the fire and a large window that looked out over the forbidden forest.

“Sit, Draco.” he said, moving to stand by the fire. He didn’t turn to see if his godson had followed his command. “What is your interest in the Granger girl?”

Draco had not expected his godfather to be so direct and he paused just a bit too long before answering. “Interest? I’m not—”

“It would behoove you not to lie to me.” he said, drawing out each word so that the statement seemed much more ominous than it would have sounded from someone else.

Draco figured a half truth would do the trick. “She just rubs me the wrong way, godfather. That’s all.”

“She just...rubs you...the wrong...way....” Snape repeated, still standing and staring into the flames of the hearth. His tone made Draco’s words sound stupid and childish and he wished he could take them back. Before he could say more, however, he was interrupted again.

“You realize you have a very important task for the Dark Lord, do you not?” asked Snape. “And,” he continued, ignoring Draco’s attempt to speak, “you realize that the Dark Lord will accept no failure on your part to complete this task?”

“I do understand—“

“Then you must forgive me, Draco,” he said, turning suddenly and fixing him with a pointed glare, “if I am confused as to why you are spending time in abandoned hallways pressed up against Ms. Granger while she ‘rubs you the wrong way’ when you should be working on your tasks for the Dark Lord!”

Draco’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he rushed to defend himself. “You’ve got it all wrong, Severus.” He didn’t ordinarily use his godfather’s first name when they were at school but this was just too much. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Isn’t it?” asked Snape. “If anyone else had walked down that hallway, the rumors would have been all over this school by nightfall. The only heir to the Malfoy fortune and Potter’s mudblood. How long do you think that would take to reach the Dark Lord?”

“Surely he wouldn’t believe—”

Snape cut him off again with a sound somewhere between a scoff and a bark and gave him an incredulous look. “Believe? Do you think you’d be given a chance to explain yourself, boy? Do you think the Dark Lord would invite you over for tea and biscuits and have a heart-to-heart with you about appearances?”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and leaned over. “Look, it’s nothing like what you said. It isn’t,” he insisted more forcefully when Snape lifted his eyebrow. “If you’re so worried, why did you put Granger and I into these ridiculous extra potions lessons? Won’t that also be bad for appearances?”

Snape was on him before he could blink, leaning over him and sneering into his face. “Do you think this is a joke, boy? This is the Dark Lord. You need to think, Draco.” He straightened up and paced back to the fire, leaning one hand against the mantle. He was silent for a moment and then turned back around to face Draco. He looked tired.

“I am placing you into these special potions lessons,” he began slowly, “to give you more time during the day when classes are in session to work on your task.”

Oh. Suddenly Draco felt very stupid.

“You will no longer be expected to attend your regular potions class,” Snape continued, “it’s a waste for your talent anyway—so you can use that time, time when everyone else will be in classes, to focus entirely on your task without being watched or having to rely on a lookout.”

Draco nodded his understanding. In truth, it was brilliant. He wouldn’t have to worry about being seen sneaking off to the seventh floor anymore. He might even get to eat a full dinner here and there. And with Granger in this special potions class as well, it wouldn’t look like favoritism. They were the top performing students at the school, loathe as he was to admit it, and Snape’s distaste for the mudblood swot was legendary.

After thanking his godfather and briefly discussing his task, Snape dismissed him and he left, feeling considerably more hopeful than he had when he’d arrived.

* * *

 

Hermione’s quill sat completely still in her hand, poised over the parchment but unmoving while every other quill in the classroom scratched away, taking down the notes from Professor Sinistra’s lecture. She’d been in class for a half hour at least, but unable to think of much more than her current fuming anger, she’d not written down anything past the date at the top of the page and a mindless and wholly uncharacteristic set of scratchy lines doodled across the parchment edge. How dare he take her wand. Who did he think he is. Who did he think she was? She’d curse him into oblivion. Why hadn’t she? And Snape! The nerve. But it wouldn’t have done any good to tell him the truth. Malfoy had taken her wand and proceeded to accuse her of....of.... _witchcraft_ , basically. Which, okay, yes, she was guilty. But not of bewitching _him_ or whatever it was he was trying to suggest. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep? Well maybe that was just the consequence of living with Death Eaters and a guilty conscience! It certainly had nothing to do with her!

She had to stop. She huffed loudly and several people turned to look at her. Professor Sinistra eyed her for a moment and raised one elegant eyebrow before returning to her lecture. Hermione focused in on her notes, or lack thereof. She’d get notes from someone else for the first half of the lesson, since Merlin knows they borrowed hers often enough. She tuned in and began to copy down a few notes from the board, but soon her quill had stilled again.

What exactly was that about her smelling good?? He’d gotten so close to her. So very close. What was he playing at? She narrowed her eyes and focused on writing down a few more words.

For a moment, he had looked almost pitiful, forlorn, despite the fact that he was holding her wand in his hand. She’d wanted to comfort him for a moment there, even going as far as reaching for him like she’d do if it were Harry or Ron looking that way. But he was certainly not Harry and he was most certainly not Ron. He was Malfoy. He was dangerous. He was cruel and foul and rude and he’d taken her wand.

And she’d be having private lessons along with him for the rest of the year.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy rubbed his temples. He’d been broken out of Azkaban only a few weeks prior and he was still deeply drained from his experiences. Draco’s letter sat neatly in the center of his desk where it had sat for the two days since he had received it. The boy would be here soon and he’d have to tell him everything. Or not. He kept going back and forth on that. Could he somehow buy more time? Perhaps it didn’t mean what he thought it meant. Perhaps the boy was just acting out, unnerved by the tasks the Dark Lord had set for him. And who wouldn’t? They were monumental undertakings and anyone, no matter their age or experience, would be cowed by their gravity.

Lucius dropped his head into his hands. It didn’t help that it was his own failings at the Department of Mysteries that had led to his son’s premature induction as a Death Eater. Before, he had wanted nothing but for his son to follow in his footsteps, but now...now he simply wanted his son to survive. The closer he was to the Dark Lord, the less likely that was to happen and he didn’t know what to do, how to stop it.

He shook his head and took a long drink from his firewhiskey. There was no use dwelling on his myriad of mistakes right now. Draco would arrive soon with, if what he suspected was true, a whole host of new problems to face. The past would have to wait.

Yes, Lucius well knew what was between the lines of his son’s letter, what he hadn’t said but what Lucius knew to be true.

Draco had inherited the veela gene after all, and it was manifesting early.

Draco had found his mate.

* * *

Draco watched from his favorite leather chair in his father’s study, while Lucius slowly poured out two glasses of a centuries old bottle of Ogden’s Finest. This was the first time he had seen his father since he had returned from Azkaban and although he was dressed neatly and stood just as tall and proud as ever, Draco was still dismayed to see how frail he looked. He answered in the affirmative when his father asked if his studies were going well and he humored the old man with a bit of small talk, but there was something beneath his father’s tone that made Draco feel uneasy. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Lucius appearing nervous and a small part of him found it fascinating. Mostly he just found himself feeling more nervous. 

Whatever he had to tell him, it couldn’t be good. He was stalling too much and Malfoy’s don’t stall.

“So, Father?” he began, taking advantage of a brief lull in the conversation. “I wondered if you received my letter?”

At this, everything about Lucius seemed to just...stop. He appeared a statue, unblinking, the breath in his body coming so shallow that his chest did not even seem to be moving.

“Father?”

“Yes, Yes, Draco, he said quietly. “I received your letter.”

Draco waited, wondering if his father was going to berate him for the fight with McLaggen, for risking others finding out and calling attention to himself.

Lucius continued. “I need you to tell me what happened, Draco.”

“I told you—”

“I need to know what you didn’t put in the letter.”

Draco didn’t know what his father was getting at, so he decided to play it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lucius sighed, but did not look impatient or angry. Instead he drew himself up and stared directly into his son’s eyes. “Alright I’ll get to the point. Is there a girl involved?”

Draco hesitated, but it was enough and he knew it would be pointless to lie. Lucius shut his eyes and drew breath as if to speak, then shook his head lightly and lifted his drink, finishing off the glass.

“Son....tell me...what do you know about veelas?”

What did he know about veelas? Draco immediately felt annoyed and he showed it. “I don’t meant to be rude, Father, but...”

“Just answer the question, son.”

Draco leaned forward and placed his empty glass down on the table. He’d humor the old man. For now. But he came here for answers and he intended to get them.

“Veelas,” he said, “are subhuman creatures.”

His father just held his gaze and motioned for him to continue.

“I don’t know...” he wracked his brain for his knowledge of veelas. Creatures. Appear beautiful at first but are secretly disgusting beasts. What else? They drink blood like vampires, don’t they? They are less than mud bloods and that’s saying something. “They are supposed to be quite beautiful to look at...but that’s just a mask. Underneath they are disgusting and frightening. They lure men in and drink their blood.”

Lucius smirked for a second, then grew serious again. “Anything else?”

Draco shrugged. “They are all female...they have wings...” Draco was feeling more agitated by the second and decided he’d had enough of this, whatever this was.

“There’s more, I’m sure,” he said through his teeth, “but it’s been a while—look, would you please get to the point?”

Lucius arched an eyebrow at his son and Draco just stared back at him, unwilling to concede to this ridiculous line of questioning any further. After a moment, his father lowered his gaze.

“You are mostly correct, if a bit misguided on certain aspects. I had hoped it wouldn’t....that is to say, I had hoped you would be spared.” Lucius began quietly. “It’s our greatest shame and something I’ve worked hard to keep hidden from the public records. I was fortunate in that it mostly skipped me. I’d hoped...but it’s clear now...”

Draco felt suddenly very hot and cold at once. He swallowed thickly and spoke, trying and failing to keep his voice from cracking. “What...what is clear now?”

“I’m so sorry, son. If I’d known it would manifest in you, we’d have had this discussion long ago. As it was, you had shown no sign...”

“Showed no sign of what?” Draco asked, the panic evident in his voice.

His father looked at him sadly. “You’re half veela, Draco.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so yeah....it's been a while. I had some health failings, my father passed away, etc. etc. etc. Let's just say 2018 can suck it. But thanks to a few really kind commenters and the support of my friends, I'm back and ready to pick this story back up. We last left Draco in his father's study, discovering he's half-veela. *clutches pearls* The horror! He'd also recently been found pressing a certain curly headed muggleborn against the castle wall by a certain bat-robed professor and was sentenced to have to meet with her for the remainder of the year to work on some advanced potions projects. But they hate each other! Oh no! What ever will they do? Heh. Classic. Okay, that's enough of that. On with the show!

Draco paced around his room back in the Slytherin dormitories and thought for the hundredth time about his father’s revelation.

 

_“I’m a what?” Draco asked._

 

_“A Veela, Draco. Half Veela.“_

 

_“But I can’t be a...”_

 

_“A half Veela? Oh I assure you that you most certainly can. The Malfoy line has had Veela heritage going back generations. Sometimes it disappears for a hundred years or so, but it always resurfaces.”_

 

As if that was any excuse for not telling him. As if that was any excuse for preaching the so-called “purity” of the Malfoy name all his life! They’d argued, the two of them, for hours before Lucius decided he couldn’t be “reasoned with” and apparated with him back to Hogwarts.

 

_Lucius released him at the gates. “We’ll talk again when you’ve had time to process.” And with a final swish of his silk robes, he disappeared with a crack and was gone._

 

That was yesterday evening and he hadn’t been able to sleep all night after he returned. His throat felt tight and he ran his hand through his hair, lank around his head from sweat. Disgusting. He was disgusting. And it was so goddamn hot in the room he couldn’t think. Muffled voices told him that a few other students were nearby and he shuddered to think of speaking to any of them right now. Even the least of the Slytherins were half bloods—worlds better than a mongrel like him. He was worse than that, he was worse than a mudblood, he...

 

He had to get out of there.

 

Shoving past the group of fourth years loitering in the common room, Draco tore his way up and out of the dungeon.

 

He’d never even gotten to talk to his father about attacking Cormac, although he assumed that the timing of the admission meant something about his Veela side was what had turned him into a muggle barbarian using his fists rather than his wand.

 

His Veela side. His creature. What would he do now, just go attacking at will? He should be locked up! Would that great oaf Hagrid want to show him in his classes? Hagrid, it dawned on him, was a half giant. Half creature with no surname or family fortune. Was he destined to become like him? Was he to be Draco, the destitute barbarian? He couldn’t imagine how he’d keep it a secret if he was running around throwing hands at everyone who angered him and his father insisted that secrecy was of the utmost importance.

 

Well, of course it was. If anyone knew...he shuddered to think.

 

“Aren’t you meant to be somewhere about now, Mr. Malfoy?”

 

Draco stopped in his tracks at the sound of his godfather’s voice. He felt nothing short of murderous at being interrupted.

 

Murderous, but not suicidal. He gritted his teeth and smoothed over his features before turning around.

 

“Professor?” he asked, calmly.

 

“I believe,” he began, “that you are, at this very moment, _meant_ to be in your first Potions laboratory with Ms. Granger.”

 

Draco drew in a deep breath through his nose and shut his eyes.

 

“I take it from your demeanor that you had let that little appointment slip your mind?”

 

Snape spoke slowly, as if to a child, and Draco felt himself getting impossibly angrier. “It isn’t as if I haven’t had more important things on my mind!” he hissed.

 

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Watch your tone, boy, or I’ll be speaking to your father—“

 

Draco’s scoff at the mention of his father caused Snape to pause and raise an eyebrow.

 

“As I said,” he continued, watching Draco carefully, “I will speak to your father if I feel it necessary. As it is...” he gestured, a dismissive motion, “you need to keep your meeting with Ms. Granger.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “If this is to work, if you are to be excused from attending your regular afternoon potions class, there can be no doubts as to your whereabouts during the scheduled meetings with Ms. Granger. You must heed my words, Draco.”

 

Draco nodded and confirmed his understanding before his godfather finally dismissed him. Instead of continuing down the hall, he went back the way he came and began to climb the flight of stairs toward the Great Hall instead of leaving out the front entrance like he’d planned. A little fresh air, that’s all he wanted. Now he’d be forced to sit for an hour in a tiny makeshift potions laboratory while Granger sucked all the precious air from the room with her constant whining. Maybe she’d be wearing that tiny skirt again. That might make matters a little more bearable.

 

And he had thought the little mudblood had bewitched him. Turns out, he’s just a beast all on his own, sniffing at the air like a dog and picking up on all kinds of things a pureblood human never would.

 

He felt grotesque.

 

Shockingly, when he arrived at the room, Granger was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she’d decided he wasn’t coming and left? Didn’t seem like her, but he wasn’t about to look a gift griffin in the mouth. Looking around, he saw empty vials, a few labeled jars, cauldrons of a few different sizes, and a wall of books that looked as if they hadn’t been moved from the shelf in decades. This space was clearly intended for first year students, but Draco supposed at his level much of what he needed would have to be procured directly anyway.

 

Alone with his thoughts, he felt himself drifting back to the conversation with his father. He sat for a moment. Then stood back up. Then sat again. He had to remain here for the full hour, Snape had said, or else he’d have to return to his afternoon classes. And while the afternoon classes were vastly preferable to time spent cooped up in a tiny room with Granger’s giant head of hair, he couldn’t afford to lose that time in the afternoon to work on the cabinet.

 

His anger retuned full force then. The cabinet. What was his father playing at, dropping this on him now, this year, when so much was at stake? Was he not at his wit’s end enough as it were?

 

He dug his fingernails into the edge of the desk, letting them bite into the wood. He wanted to break something. Where was Cormac’s stupid face when you needed it?

 

Chuckling at his own joke turned to a heaving sob turned to a cry of rage. A VEELA. What the FUCK. “Half-Veela,” his father’s voice reminded him, but he told the voice to shove it. Subhuman is what it was—what HE was. Him. DRACO SODDING MALFOY. A halfbreed? Was he less than even a muggle now? Draco didn’t even know where half-creatures ranked, having never given much thought to them beyond disgust. Before he knew it, he’d upended the heavy desk and ripped the bookshelf off the wall. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that the strength he’d just used wasn’t natural and that just made him feel worse. He landed in a heap among the dusty tomes, broken glass, and bits of Merlin-knows-what that had once been contained within them, and began to cry. 


	9. Chapter 9

Her bag loaded with books, Hermione headed back from the library to the little room where she was to work on her special projects for Potions for the remainder of the year. Malfoy hadn’t shown up, a happy surprise, so she took it upon herself to get the space in order so she could begin. The books in the room were frightfully old and she recognized them all as Year One texts anyway, so she decided the first thing to do would be to check out some advanced books in the library.

 

As she got closer to the room, however, she thought she heard a noise. She slowed down and listened closely and yes, she distinctly heard the sound of something crashing.

 

She moved a bit faster and heard another crash and what sounded like a scream. And it was coming from her new potions room!

 

PEEVES! She thought, and burst into the room with her wand drawn, scanning the corners for the poltergeist. But all she saw was a wreckage of broken furniture and bits of shattered glass, and among it all, Malfoy. He sat staring up at her from his place on the floor, his forearms resting on his knees with his wand held tightly in one hand.

 

He looked as though he’d recently been crying, the red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks down his face making Hermione feel uncomfortable in ways she wasn’t willing to interrogate. But his expression was the strangest thing of all. For all that he looked like a man in the midst of a nervous breakdown, his eyes were shining with something else entirely. If she didn’t know any better, she would say he looked at her like…as if…well, she wasn’t sure what that was.

 

Draco looked up as she threw open the door. Hermione was standing there, wand drawn, hair flying around her head and looking like a goddamn Valkyrie. Her scent had never been more powerful to him, like fresh cut ginger and warm apple cider and sweet amber and Draco couldn’t help it, he felt all his hot rage shift into something entirely different at the sight of her. It was still a burning of sorts but it was focused.

 

He rose up among the wreckage without speaking and wiped his face with his sleeve as he did, knowing it was already too late to pretend he hadn’t been having a meltdown in the middle of their new potions room but somehow not feeling embarrassed about it. He flicked his wand at the desk, which slid loudly across the room and righted itself next to where Hermione stood. She watched the desk as it maneuvered into place and then looked back up at him.

 

Neither of them said a word. Malfoy stalked closer to her and she bristled, unsure of his intent, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin to maintain eye contact. He looked dangerous like this, his eyes bloodshot and his movements less sinuous and smooth than was usual for him, but there was something else, something in his eyes that made her feel warm and light. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

 

He wouldn’t dare, she added hastily to herself.

 

The closer he got to her, the more easy he found it to breathe. He had felt stifled since the argument in his father’s study, and if he was honest, for days even before that, but close to her, taking in her scent and looking into her eyes, was the first real breath he felt he’d taken in a week.

 

She started to pull back and he panicked at the sudden feeling of loss. “No, please—“ he said, the first words that had been spoken between the two since she arrived, and he stepped slowly closer to her. “Please...” he said again, pocketing his wand and holding up both hands, as if to show his intentions were purely innocent.

 

At this, Hermione slid her wand slowly into her pocket as well, probably following dueling etiquette more than as any sort of concession to Draco, but he’d take it.

 

She felt her breath hitch when he came so close to her. It was like in the hallway before...something seemed to settle within her when he came near, while simultaneously something else, something new, blazed to life. He smelled like freshly fallen leaves, like old leather, like salt...

 

Draco stood there, closing his eyes, just breathing her in. This was the third time in the last few weeks he’d found himself in this position, but the first of those times when he couldn’t find any animosity for her within himself. No...all he felt was an overwhelming sense of peace and something close to gratitude.

 

“Malfoy...?” she asked, softly, so it was almost a whisper. Her hands itched to touch him. It made no sense. None of this made sense. But she found it difficult to think past her desire to just...touch him. Just a little.

 

“Hm?” He opened his eyes slowly and looked at her through his lashes. He didn’t want to talk right now. He just wanted...this. He just wanted to stand there, close to her, and bask in the relief he felt.

 

Hermione wasn’t looking at him. She shook her head just a little and winced, like she was arguing with herself, and then glanced up, reaching out her hand toward his face without meeting his eyes. Before she could think better of it, his own hand had lifted quickly, gently grasping hers and pressing it softly against his cheek. Her eyes shot up to meet his.

 

“What is this?” she asked, finally. “What...why...?”

 

Draco found it difficult to breathe now but for an entirely different reason. The warmth of her small hand on his face and cradled beneath his own made him want to turn her hand over and kiss her palm. In all his years sneaking into dark corners and broom closets for a quick snog, he’d never felt this.

 

“It’s....it’s nothing to be _afraid_ of...” he said, carefully, nuzzling his face in against her palm and letting himself breathe softly against her skin.

 

She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping from his to where their skin met. This was how she found herself focused on his bottom lip, full and pink, and so close to her own skin it could be a kiss...

 

“But there is something?” She asked him. “There is….there is an explanation? Because Malfoy, this…”

 

“I know,” he said softly. “I just need a minute….”

 

“Okay…” came her half-whisper, and he realized with a jolt that her eyes were fixed on his lips. His head was spinning. He shut his eyes to block out any rejection he might see in her gaze and he pressed his lips softly to her palm. Her skin was so soft and her fragrance was so intoxicating, he thought he had died and gone to paradise. After what was too short a moment, he opened his eyes once again and forced himself to meet hers, expecting but hardly prepared for the rejection he was sure he’d see there.

 

What he was met with, however, surprised him. Her eyes were burning into him with what he could only identify as desire. She wanted him too.

 

The sudden sound of voices and shuffling feet in the hall indicated that classes must have been let out and Draco and Hermione sprang apart, the magic that had been twisting itself around them vanishing like smoke.

 

“I’ll just—” began Hermione at the same time as Draco said “Right so—” and they eyed each other, coming to an unspoken agreement to say nothing more. Hermione turned away from him and carefully stacked the books from her bag onto the desk, while Draco set the room to rights. When he turned back around, Hermione had gone. His chest tightened a little as the lingering scent of her dissipated, but the agitation he’d felt before her arrival did not return. With a heavy sigh, he shut the door behind him and decided a trip to the library was in order. If his entire life was to change, he needed at the very least to have a better idea of what he was up against. That, and this thing with Granger...with the _mudblood_ , he corrected himself...no, with _Granger_ he corrected himself again, this thing with her needed explaining and maybe the library would hold some answers. 


End file.
